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2014.04.02 - Pony Skating
By this point in the year, the days are getting longer. Even at five in the evening its bright as midafternoon, ample illumination for Bruce to read the text that chirps at him from his phone: 254th & Broadway ASAP. Wear jeans. No sandals. A bit cryptic, though by the time he actually manages to find 254th and Broadway the reasoning may be somewhat more apparent, as it turns out to be the address for Riverdale Equestrian Center, a Central Park adjacent facility that is the only place left that one can ride a horse without leaving New York City proper. ’Etta is there ahead of him, clad in English breeches and short field boots and standing in a ring with two sleek chestnut Morgans, chatting with another equestrian looking woman as she curves a brush across one of the horse’s flanks. The two share a laugh over something as the other woman tests the girth on a newly fitted saddle. Bruce gets dropped off by a SHIELD van. It's black and dark and blends in well with every other black SUV on the planet. It also stands out as very obviously a covert car. But Bruce doesn't drive, period, so... He wanders through the front entrance and walks out back. He is indeed wearing jeans for once, even if they are a bit too long and worn looking for him, and a t-shirt that says FRAK IT in a bold print on the front. Spotting Henrietta, he approaches her, then looks over the two of them and at his own apparel, complete with a pair of comfortable looking Converse shoes. "Ok, so... did I misread the memo about dress?" he asks, squinting at the two women. "Because I don't think you want to see me in those, er, pants. Breeches," he amends, suddenly remembering the word.’ Henrietta waves at Bruce as armed minions deposit him in the driveway, abandoning her brush and giving her horse a pat on the rump before helping him don pad and saddle as well. Even as she’s working she gives him a thorough up-and-down look and says playfully, “Oh, I don’t know about that, Doctor Banner. They might quite suit you.” She quirks a brow at him before allowing herself to grin brightly. “But that will more than do. I just wanted to help you avoid the unpleasant prospect of chafing.” She glances to the handsome older woman beside her and says, ”Margaret, this is Doctor Bruce Banner. Bruce, this is Margaret, who graciously let me have an extra hour at the end of her day to teach you to ride in relatively peace and quiet, without a gaggle of entitled fourteen year olds attempting to run you down.” ”Pleased to meet you.” Margaret says with a warm smile for Bruce. She looks from him to Etta before saying as she starts towards the barn, “And I think I’m leaving you in good hands.” For her part, Etta looks quite pleased at springing this on him, truth be told, a glimmer lighting her eyes as she looks from him to the other horse. “That’s Muffin. He’s eighteen years old and has been a school horse for ten. He’s about as scary as milk, so he shouldn’t give you any trouble.” PANTS! Tick doesn't wear them! Leg prisons have never been his way. Footloose and fancy free, that's the Tick's way of life. He's not sure why something so fancy should be free. In his experience, fancy things usually cost quite a lot of clams. Delicious, squishy clams. NATURE'S LITTLE SNACKPOCKET! Today, though, he is wearing shorts. Big shorts. Floral shorts. With big, big sunflowers on them. Massie pockets. A large straw, wide brimmed hat (with antenna sticking out). Sunglasses. He carries a pointy stick. Is he preparing to duel some fiendish villain, acquired for their battle in the traditional garb of that dastardly do-eviller's quirky, demented and yet worthy of our sensitivity culture? MAYBE. He can't actually remember. But, as long as he's here, he's using the pointy stick to pick up litter. Upon seeing the women and the horses and the man all at once, Tick stops, hefting his litter poker up onto his shoulder and grinning broadly, "GADZOOKS! Is it spring already? The horses have begun to blossom!!! Ah, the smell of it, so sweet, so...so...EW! LOOKOUT, MA'AM, THAR SHE BLOWS! Don't worry, don't worry, the Tick is here to rescue you! AND I HAVE MOIST TOWELETTES! OOOOOOOOOH LEMONY!" Bruce smiles and shakes Margaret's hand, exchanging some pleasantries, then looks at 'etta. "Horseback riding, eh?" he says, rubbing his palms together. He looks the horses over, then slaps one on the chest, rubbing. "Welp, I've seen bigger, that's for sure. How do I get on-" And he's abruptly cut short by The Tick, jaw dropping slightly as the giant blue... insect-man? strides up to them. Bruce winces as the Tick starts bellowing, clapping his hands to his ears instinctively and backing a few steps away. "Criminey, you're loud!" Bruce says, shying away from the group a bit. "Do you have to yell when you run up on a bunch of total strangers?" Exploding horses, so long as they are only exploding in the normal way horses are given to exploding, can’t really hold a candle to... all that. So big. And blue. And... flowery. Even wielding a pointed stick, Etta is momentarily too astonished to feel threatened by his sudden advance and the prospect of having moist towellets forcibly administered to her person. This /is/ still Central Park, after all, and possibly not even in the top ten of strangest things going on here at the moment. ”Never fear, I left my Louboutins at home. The ponies can do their worst as far as I’m concerned, though you’re kind to worry.” She says to the advancing bug-man, though when Bruce exclaims over his loudness she casts a slightly concerned glance his way. Blue and Green would probably clash a bit. She smiles winsomely at him and says, “I can show you? But mainly, you put your toe in the iron bit here, and grab on to a bit of mane here... and then up and over you go. But you should say hello first. Give him a bit of an ear rub. Who doesn’t like a nice ear rub at the end of a long day?” She glances back to the Tick and asks, after giving him a bit of once over that includes his litter-stick. “Do you... work here?” The Tick slows slightly as the proffered explosion turns out to be more gaseous emanation than revenge of the ooze. His massive feet bring him up just short, the Tick trying to tilt his hat back only to realize that his antenna punching up through the straw make it an impossible predicament, "Uh oh, wardrobe malfunction! BOY ARE MY CHEEKS RED!" To Bruce, he bows, "My apologies, citizen! My former cruise director, Dr. Augustus Limon, captain of the U.S.S. Good Ship Barkweather's Institute for the Mentally Impaired...I tell you, I tried to get him to change it to Minnow, but he'd have none of it. CRAZY! Anyway, he told me that it was very important and polite to make sure that anyone within a forty foot radius was aware of my presence. DON'T WANNA STARTLE ANYONE!" "To Etta, he beams, his big white teeth so very...big and white. Just like his vacant, vacant eyes, "Work here? Madame, Justice is never work. Justice doesn't make you clock in or pack a lunch. It doesn't file silly forms or tell you that you can't put a little hula girl on your desk even though you specifically bought it to go next to your souvenir picture of Don Cheadle. OH CHEADS! No, I come here purely for the pleasure of seeing the right thing done, and today, the right thing is nipping that sticky wicket called litter right in the bud. BUDS ARE WHERE LITTER IS MOST SENSITIVE!" "But pardon me, I haven't introduced myself. Ladies, nervous guy, horses...you stand in the presence of justice...you stand in the presence of...THE TICK!" Bruce flinches away, again, as The Tick keeps yelling. He's big and blue, and Bruce already had an encounter with a nigh-on indestructible colossus today. He fishes in his pocket for a pill container, pours two or three into his palm, and swallows them in a gulp. "Seriously. Please. Stop being so loud," he begs The Tick, his hands shaking a little bit. "I totally see you there and acknowledge your presence. B-but you're b-being a little t-too noisy and I'm k-kind of easily st-startled around l-loud sounds," he says, a tremor hitting his voice. "And I am... you d-don't want me to b-be startled." The horses are entirely unmoved by both the volume and content of the large blue insect-man’s introduction. Muffin noses about in the dirt in the hopes of a stray scrap of hay with the been-there-done-that air of a guy who’s clocked more hours with rambunctious toddlers strapped to his back than the most indulgent babysitter. Etta, on the other hand, looks caught midway between bemusement and alarm at first, at least until Bruce’s reaction begins to tip the scales squarely in the latter direction. ”Mr. Tick, a pleasure...” she says in a voice that barely rises above a whisper, moving towards him and laying a hand on his, frankly, massive forearm as she tries to sort of guide him away from Bruce to give him the maximum possible insulation from yelling and general big-ness. She smiles up at his impossibly square-jawed face, sort of guiding him and her horse both towards the barn before saying, “Its very handy you turned up, perhaps. I was just wondering who would keep the ponies in this pen over here company while I was showing my friend the basics. Only we should be quiet. I think there’s... umm... probably someone sleeping somewhere.” This is probably, strictly speaking, true. Somewhere is awfully big. And look, they’ve arrived at another paddock currently housing three small ponies complete with ample things to clean and buckets to be filled. The ponies glare sullenly at the Tick through the fence, as everyone knows that the smaller the equine, the more ill-tempered it will be. Etta hands the Tick a brush and asks with a nod towards the surly beasties, “Would you mind?” The Tick blinks, "Oooooooh, ponies! NATURE'S MINI...er, I mean...yes, of course," he says. It's a normal tone of voice which, for Tick, qualifies as whispers, "Yes. Also, that man is starting to shake a little bit. I think he might have a case of the jimmy legs,' he whispers, "Very smart to teach him horse riding. I feel so bad for him." Tick takes the brush and just stares at it for a long moment, "Yes...yes, I will brush them...for justice," he says, a strange gleam in his eye. Bruce shakes his head, then mouths a 'thank you' at 'etta as she leads The Tick off so skillfully. By the time she returns, Bruce is somehow in the saddle, looking much better- though still a bit pale- and holding the reins in both hands. "Hey, it was easier than I thought!" he says with a shy grin. "I'm, uh, not really sure how to get it into first gear, though," he admits, craning his neck around. “Thank you.” ‘Etta says warmly (and quietly) to The Tick, perfectly sincere in her gratitude. She gives his arm a little squeeze “And I hope it does turn out to be smart. I suppose... we shall see.” She says to the Big Blue Groom of Justice with a grin, opening the gate for him and ushering him into the pen. When she turns back, Bruce is up on Muffin and she can only blink at him with surprise and delight. ”Goodness, you may turn out to be a natural my dear. Just a tick and I’ll get up too and we’ll get our bearings going about the ring, shall we?” She slips a foot neatly in the iron and all but vaults up onto her own horses back, clucking and touching her heels to his sides as she walks him back towards Bruce. “Hold the reins loosely in your hands and then just give her a little touch just here...” She says, indicating where with her own heel on her horse. Meanwhile, in the pen, The Tick is confronted with perhaps the nastiest villains he’s encountered all day: Spit, Spot and Sprinkles. The three shaggy ponies begin to circle around him, sniffing at him in case he has something that smells appetizing. Like an apple, or a sugar cube... or a lemon scented towlete. Bruce does exactly that, and blinks in surprise as his horse starts walking forward with a comfortable, plodding pace. "Hey, that worked!" he says, trying to sit straight the way they always tell people to do in the movies. He looks a bit stiff, but competent, at least for a few seconds. "Wait, how do I turn her?" he asks with a frown, moving the reins left and right without actually doing anything. "Go right!" he orders the horse, who just flicks an ear at him and keeps plodding along in that laconic, 'I-don't-care' step older horses develop. ‘Etta wolf-whistles her approval of Bruce’s newly discovered horsemanship, urging her own mount along in front of his so that he can watch her from behind. “If you hold the reins just so... slack, but tight enough that if you sort of squeeze they’ll ever-so-gently feel it in their mouth... like this... then she’ll know you want her to turn. Though she has eyes, of course, and she’ll help too. Its much better than a car in that respect.” Etta assures him, tossing her head to grin back at him over the round of a shoulder. “Very well done indeed, Doctor.” Off in the distance, as they ride, there is only the mildly distressing sight of Tick standing on top of the pony fence, pointing at one of the animals and then leaping off with what appears to be a flying elbow drop. Bruce grins back at Etta, finding a comfortable rhythm to the horse's stride, and follows her advice, turning to follow her around the perimeter of the corral. "Hey, that worked," he says, sounding almost surprised. "This isn't as hard as I thought it'd be," he remarks, patting his horse's neck. "She's a sweet thing, isn't she?" he coos, running fingers through the horse's mane. “If she doesn’t know the secret to patience and acceptance, then I don’t think any of us ever shall.” Etta says philosophically, reveling in the feeling of working in tandem with something enormous and powerful. She leads him once more about the ring, noting a careening blue shape out of the corner of her eye with a slight frown of concern that she shakes off after a moment and looks back to ask, “Want to see what its like a bit faster?” She holds her heel against the horse’s side a bit longer, this time making a kissy-noise that seems to spur the creature into a trot. “Think of it like dancing. A walk is four beats, a trot three, canter two... and gallop is one. So at three, you can either try and stick it like a cowboy or... this.” ‘This’ turns out to be holding the horse tight with her thighs and letting the slightly bouncy rhythm of the horse toss her up before sinking back down again, or ‘posting’. When they come back around again, they see...well...something no one has ever seen before. The Tick, partially spattered in mud, his shorts torn so that only one leg hangs haphazardly in place, seems rather tall in the pen, as if he were floating on air. He's beaming from here to ear, despite the straw sticking from his teeth from his hat, or the fact that his sunglasses seem be be entirely missing. Given his apparent lack of ears, one might wonder how they'd ever stayed up in the first place. At a different angle, the truth of the matter soon comes to be seen. Tick's massive, treaded feet are currently standing on a pony each, Spot and Spit lashed to his ankles, but looking oddly content. Or drugged. Potentially concussed. Either way, they've never been so calm. Sprinkles, meanwhile, has a bit in his mouth...okay, technically, it's a shoe of unknown provenance, but he -is- biting it and there is a rope running through it...and, yes, there's no other way to say it, Tick is clearly skiing the ponies around the pen. He waves cheerily as Bruce and Etta pass, "Looking good! Equestrianism's wacky! But ooooooooh so satisfying! I've made some friends! And I've seen the insides of things I didn't know had insides! Education is fundamental!' "Uhh.... ok," Bruce says, cautiously. He bumps his legs into the horse's midsection and, with a snort, she breaks into a trot that's almost as lazy as her walk, except with longer steps. He bounces up and down in the saddle a few times before he notices what 'etta's doing and starts moving in rhythm with the equine, up and down, up and down. His motions are clumsy and more often than note he misses a beat, but he seems to have the gist of it, and almost falls off when he spots the Tick. "Is... is that how you're supposed to do it?" he asks Henrietta doubtfully, eying the trio of ponies hauling the Tick around the pen. “Huh.” That’s all ‘Etta’s got for a moment as she watches the malevolent ponies veer about, bearing the Tick around like the weirdest county fair princess ever. “Huh. And... no, not traditionally. Though ponies are a lot sturdier than most people give them credit for but... Huh.” Etta watches for a moment because, really, how could you fail to watch that? But seeing no obvious blood and hearing no screams, pony or otherwise, she seems content to let it play out. She gives The Tick a wave and calls, “Very original! We could have used you in the Circus!” She looks back again, grinning at Bruce and nodding. “Good, good! The trot is the hardest really. The next one, you just... sort of roll with it. In the small of your back. It’s the best.” She promises, just before drawing out another, longer kissy noise that sends her partner in this into a long, stretched out canter around the ring. “Don’t panic! It’ll be fun!” She promises, now going fast enough that the wind tugs wildly at her hair. The Tick laughs heartily,' You're not the first to say it! I was once offered a spot in one. They said I could even sleep in the cannon! SO SNUG! But, alas, Justice's siren call, she never left my...er...ears! And so, I have remained myself, The Tick, scion of justice, righter of wrongs, puncher of..whoa...WHOA!" he crires, the ponies suddenly jetting off and sending Tick flying backwards head over heels, landing on top of his head with a loud BONK> Bruce nods and does exactly what Henrietta does, and the horse takes off underneath him. He manages to stay with the horse for a few moments, then he starts to de-stabilize and lose control. He grasps the saddlehorn for balance, but the saddle pounds against his thighs, jarring him. He jerks on the reins once, loses a stirrup, and with a small buck, the horse sends him flying. Bruce lands on his feet, at least, and tucks and rolls, flopping over on his face and laying still. It’s an orgy of flying superheroes for a moment. And, as charming and blue as The Tick is, Etta’s first priority is Bruce as he goes tumbling off his mount. Her dismount from the horse is actually rather impressive, as she doesn’t wait for it to fully stop and instead vaults neatly off the side. It’s a pity that there’s nobody around to appreciate it, but in the span of a heartbeat or two she’s kneeling at Bruce’s side, looking him over carefully with eyes and brushes of fingers as the two school horses mill around contentedly. ”Bruce? You okay?” She asks gently. “That was too much for your first go, I’m sorry. You were doing really well there and I figured... “ She sighs and takes his hand in hers. “Well, on the plus side, getting tossed tends to be over before you really know its happening. “ Bruce rolls over, covering his face in both hands and laughing. He looks none the worse for wear. "Oh my god, I can't believe I fell off," he chuckles, covering his eyes with a groan. "I thought I had it there for a second." He sits up, scrapes off a few grass stains, and looks over at his horse, who stands placidly and (naughtily) eating the grass. "I took the fall pretty well," Bruce assures Etta. "I got into skydiving a few years ago as a way to control my adrenaline impulses. Had to learn about landing the hard way a few times before I figured out the ol' tuck and roll." The Tick pops up behind Etta, a large flower sticking out of his head, lumps of soil clinging to his giant chin, "It's okay, chum! I'm here! My god, man, are you all right? I thought I heard your vestublia crack! Or maybe it was your pistorious! I get them mixed up! Do you need a bandaid or some sort of gellato? That always makes me feel better when I get a boo boo!" Henrietta looks entirely relieved as Bruce starts to laugh, following suit and murmuring a few amused notes under her breath before she leans down and steals the quickest of kisses from his only-slightly dirt festooned lips. “Good. And yes, it was an /excellent/ fall. I’d give you a solid 9.7 though I expect the Russian judges will be harsher.” She grins and tightens her grip on his hand, helping pull him back to his feet if he proves amenable to such an idea. ”Thank you, Mr. Tick, but I think he’s right as rain. Just a bit dusty.” She says charitably, considering what the ‘dust’ here is likely to be composed of. She eyes the flower and asks, “And you? I thought I heard a bit of a thump when you fell off your... ponies.” Plural. It sounds odd, but of course, it looked even odder, so... Bruce kisses 'etta back and gets to his feet, dusting the grass stains off of himself. "Welp, ok then," he says, leaning a bit on the woman for support. "Wow, that rung my bells a little," he states, rubbing a palm against his brow. He peers at the Tick, then points a finger at his head. "You, sir, have a daffodil on your head," he observes sagaciously. The Tick rolls his empty eyes up towards the top of his head, "Daffodil, you say? Well...that's all right then. Some flowers can't be trusted, though. Learned that the hard way when I had to tussle with El Seed. Nasty fella. Plus, I sneezed for a week," he says. "And don't worry about me, little lady. I'm the Tick! I'm nigh invulnerable! I once got hit by a lightning bolt while swimming in the ocean holding a toaster with a hat made of tinfoil on! Oooooooooh, mamajama, did that one smart! I can still sometimes hear NPR if I bite down on a gumball!' “All done with adventure for the day?” ‘Etta asks Bruce with a smile, winding an arm around him as he uses her as support. She turns to admire The Tick’s impromptu Springtime headgear, not to mention the tattered state of his shorts and his general rumpled-ness. His reassurances are... elaborate, and yet, based on what she’s seen of him this afternoon, oddly credible. When he’s done she can only sort of nod at him with a touch of uncertainty and say, “Well, if you’re certain. Though you do look a bit like you’ve been through the wars, I’m afraid. I doubt your shorts can be salvaged.” Looking past him to the pony pen where the three evil creatures are leaning against each other for support, she notes they’re equally exhausted by their afternoon of justice. “But thank you for... tending to them. I doubt they’ve ever had a more thorough experience.” Bruce laughs and nods a bit sheepishly. "Yeah, I think I'm a bit fun'd out," he informs the woman. "And it looks like he's having more fun than the two of us put together," Bruce adds, nodding at The Tick. "Though I at least don't have a flower growing out of my head," he adds, thoughtfully. Bruce wanders over to his horse, after assuring 'etta of his stability, and finds the reins. He gives them a gentle tug and walks back towards the copper-haired woman, looking more or less like himself pretty quickly. "Well, it was fun, at least. Can we do this again?" The Tick smiles broadly, "It's all right! They're not my shorts!" he says. As to what that means...goodness knows. "I don't think it's gotten roots in yet, but I'll get some shampoo on the way home to make sure I can wash it out. Oooh, I've never bought shampoo before. I'm gonna wash that man right outta my hair...er, flower, I mean, not man. UNLESS IT'S A MANFLOWER!" “Mmm-hmm. I’d love to, in fact. I didn’t even get to show off for you.” Henrietta quips at Bruce with a bright smile as she starts to untack her horse, who has not even broken a sweat from the few turns about the ring. She observes The Tick as she works, utterly unable to decide what to make of him and if she should be amused and/or charmed by his nonsensical enthusiasm or if professional ethics dictate that she alert someone he might be off his medication. “I’ve not ever /seen/ a man-flower, at least as far as I know, but I’m mostly sure that’s an un-exotic daffodil.” A grin and she adds, “...its actually rather fetching. Yellow and blue are very complimentary.” She gets her saddle off and draped on the fence, followed by the bridle and then starts to work on Bruce’s mare’s equipment. “You could give them a pass with the brush while I finish up if you like. And there’s some carrots tucked in that bucket.” She says with a nod to indicate which. Bruce nods and moves to help Henrietta, putting away tack, brushing down the horses, feeding them carrots (cautiously), and generally learning some of the ins and outs of horse care with the same quiet, careful attention he applies to anything he's learning. In short order, they have the saddles up, bridles hung, and horses in their stalls. Bruce smacks his hands together a few time to get some tufts of hair off of them, then grins at 'etta. "This was... really fun," he says, after a moment's consideration. "I don't think I get outside enough." “Well, considering our outside has a bit of a steep drop to it, its not surprising.” Etta muses at Bruce, wandering back over to claim his hand with a smile as she looks up at him with obvious fondness. “...But I’m glad you liked it. I did too.” She looks a bit longer before turning her head to their newfound flower-festooned friend and asking, “Mr. Tick? You’ll get home alright from here? We could certainly give you a ride if you’d like.” She says with a sidelong glance at Bruce, who may not relish the Category:Log